


Nov(Emeto)ber 2020 -- Stephen Strange

by strange-sicknesses (StrangerInAStrangeLand)



Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Blood, Caretaking, Dizziness, F/M, Fluff, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nov(emeto)ber 2020, Sick Stephen Strange, Sickfic, TW: Vomiting, Torture, Vertigo - Freeform, Whump, attempts at humor, brief mention of blood (chapter 5), brief mentions of violence/horror, let me know if the tag list is too long and i'll try to shorten it!!, stephen strange whump, tags will be updated chapter by chapter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:47:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 11,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27358246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StrangerInAStrangeLand/pseuds/strange-sicknesses
Summary: Compilation of my fanfics for Nov(emeto)ber. Character/Ship Tags will be updated chapter-by-chapter. Each chapter will be uploaded separately at the end of the month.
Relationships: Christine Palmer & Stephen Strange, Clea Strange/Stephen Strange, Clint Barton & Stephen Strange, Elsa Bloodstone & Stephen Strange, Gamora & Stephen Strange, Karl Mordo/Stephen Strange, Loki & Stephen Strange, Natasha Romanov & Stephen Strange, Scott Lang/Stephen Strange, Stephen Strange/Wong, Steve Rogers & Stephen Strange, Tony Stark & Stephen Strange, Zelma Stanton & Stephen Strange
Comments: 8
Kudos: 38





	1. "definitely not fine"

**Author's Note:**

> so yeah these are my fics for Nov(emeto)ber this year!! i'm following the prompt list, so the prompt of the day will be listed at the top of the drabble :D some of these are longer than others, but all of them have equal care put into them!! i'm a HUGE emetophobe in real life, but i missed out on Whumptober and i thought i'd try this out!! hope you enjoy :D

"Hey, Doc?" Clint called from across the room. "You okay?"  
  
"Fine," Stephen called out weakly, pressing a fist to his mouth. "I'm fine."  
  
The fight was a long one, maybe too long for Stephen's liking today. He'd been feeling off ever since he woke up. He just didn't think it would all come to a head.  
  
"Yeah...you're definitely not fine," Clint winced as he walked up to him. He straddled one of his arms around Stephen's waist and led the tired wizard to an alleyway away from the city.  
  
The sudden movement jostled his stomach. Stephen coughed into a corner, before gagging and bringing up a pitiful wave of acid. He hadn't eaten much that morning, so it was brief. But that didn't mean it wasn't painful.  
  
"Okay, buddy," Clint said, stroking his back. "Just get it all out."  
  
After a sickly heave, Stephen briskly wiped his mouth and looked up at Clint.  
  
"Sorry."  
  
"Don't apologize for being sick," he assured him.  
  
With a sigh, Stephen grabbed his sling ring and tiredly opened a portal back to the Sanctum. He stepped in slowly, almost swaying as he entered the glowing ring.  
  
"Barton," he said, right before the portal closed. "We never speak of this. Again."  
  
Being sick on the job was an embarrassing situation already. Being sick in front of a coworker? He knew he was gonna be up late at night tonight, that's for sure.  
  
But nevertheless, Clint held up an ok sign and walked away. The portal closed, and Stephen was alone in the building. He nearly fell to the floor, exhausted beyond all belief.  
  
"God, I hate my life sometimes," he moaned. 


	2. "guilty"

"Strange."

Stephen said nothing.

"Strange."

Not a single word.

"Strange, it's fine."

Mum. Completely mum.

"Stop beating yourself over it, I'll find another robe--"

"Please, take one of mine," Stephen spoke at last. He was faced away from Wong, covering his face in pure mortification. 

Wong pinched the bridge of his nose, fed up with his constant apologizing. "I have other robes, you know."

"I puked on it, I should pay for it," he argued half-lucidly. "Eye for an eye, you know?"

"It's just stomach acid, it's not like you sliced my arm off or anything," he sighed. "And go back to bed. Your fever hasn't gone down."

"I can take care of myself, thank you."

"That's why you overworked yourself to near-exhaustion, right?"

Stephen glared at him, but immediately felt guilty and went back to apologizing.

"I'm sorry for not listening to you."

"You can show that you're sorry by listening to me now."

He met Stephen's eyes and smiled softly.

"I care about you, you know." 

Glancing at him, Stephen gave in and smiled back. He walked back to the bed and climbed under the covers. 

"I know you care," he said, defeated. His head sunk into the pillow and his eyes closed shut. 

Wong ran his fingers through Stephen's hair and let him drift back to sleep. Setting the robe over his shoulder, he exited the room and went to make a fresh cup of tea. 

"I love you, Stephen."

Stephen murmured something incoherent in his exhausted state, but Wong knew exactly what it meant. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm either going to post the drabbles one-by-one as is after the month is over or expand on each of them and repost them like that. what sounds better? :D


	3. dizzy

  
His head was spinning beyond belief. It was like a rug had been pulled out from beneath his feet, sending him in a spiral of nausea. He held a hand to his stomach, only half aware of how sick he felt.  
  
"Are you okay, Strange?" Someone whispered. Whoever it was, he couldn't tell. It only made him dizzier.  
  
Space was where his mind was being housed. He opened his mouth to assure that he was alright, but was cut off by a sickening gag. A small splatter of stomach acid fell to the rug, and he nearly collapsed.  
  
A flood of red curls blinded him. Natasha quickly led him to a nearby bathroom within the Compound and held his head above the bowl.  
  
"It's okay, you're okay," she whispered, her tone slightly off. She wasn't close to him in any sense of the word. She had just noticed he was looking pale and decided to check in on him.  
  
Stephen only had a minimal amount of content left in his stomach. Fatigue overcame him, his head spinning faster than ever, and he curled up on the cool linoleum floor. He felt Natasha try to shake him awake, but her attempts were futile as he quickly lost consciousness. 

* * *

His head was spinning considerably less when he came to. Not by a lot, but he didn't feel entirely shitty at that point.  
  
He woke up in a bed, presumably a guest room. The lights were dimmed and there was a bucket on the floor right next to him. He noticed a glass of water on the nightstand, accompanied by a note. Taking the cold glass in his hand, he took a short swig of water and read the note.  
  
_Next time, make a sick call. I'm just glad you're not dead. -Natasha Romanoff._

Stephen smiled to himself and put the note back on the stand. He wrapped himself in the blankets and soon went back to sleep. Sure, he just puked in front of Black Widow, but at least she didn't hate him in the end. 


	4. stress

Steve peeked into the study of one Stephen Strange, who had been frivolously caught up in his work for hours on end. He was willing to believe that his business was completely important, but when he didn't return his calls, he got worried.  
  
"Doctor Strange?" He called out. "I wanted to make sure you were...what is happening here?"  
  
The study was a mess, plain and simple. Papers were crumpled on the ground, books were tossed aside on the furniture, and Stephen was mindlessly floating above a stack of journals. He flipped through one rapidly until he heard Steve enter.  
  
He looked up, the lack of sleep making itself known in his eyes. "Cure."  
  
"Cure?"  
  
"Magic illness...or s'mth."  
  
Stephen tried to lower himself, but in his daze he nearly crashed face first into his stack of books. The Cloak wrapped around his shoulders steadied him. Rushing over to him, Steve noticed that he was...shivering.  
  
"What's wrong?" He placed a hand on his shoulder and helped him up. "You look like you're gonna die."   
  
"I'm fine," Stephen waved off his hand. He stood upright, finding his footing. "It's just this...illness. I can't find a cure for it."  
  
He nearly fell again, but right as he stumbled, his Cloak caught him by his shoulders and led him to a nearby chair. Steve followed, kneeling down next to him.  
  
"Doctor, you've been working for 3 days straight. Take a break."  
  
With a drowsy sigh, Stephen brought a hand to his temple. "I can't--"  
  
He pressed the back of his hand to his mouth. In a moment's notice, the Cloak flew out of the room and returned with a plastic bin. Stephen abruptly coughed into the bin, a small trickle of stomach acid descending into the receptacle.  
  
Steve watched in silence as the Cloak set the bin down and immediately wrapped around Stephen's shoulders again. Stephen collapsed back into the seat and finished his sentence as if nothing had happened.  
  
"--take a break. I'm fine."  
  
Standing up, Steve raised a skeptical eyebrow.  
  
"The puke says otherwise."  
  
Unamused, Stephen directed a finger towards the door.  
  
"Just get out if you're just gonna stand there and mock me."  
  
"I'm not mocking you, I'm asking you to lie down," Steve reiterated. "No offense, but you look terrible."  
  
It was true. Besides the sunken eyes and distinct odor of vomit, Stephen's hair was completely shaggy and disheveled, as well as his robes. His skin was ghostlike, void of any color other than a sickly lime.  
  
However, he was not convinced that anything was wrong. He just continued pointing at the door.  
  
"Just go."  
  
Steve wanted to say something else, but he could tell Stephen wasn't in a fully sound state. Hesitantly, he got up and slowly proceeded out the door.  
  
He looked back. "Call me if you need any help."  
  
And then he left. 

* * *

2 hours later, Steve returned with some hot soup.  
  
"Doctor? Are you still there? Are you taking a break now?"  
  
He entered the Sanctum, hoping to see any sign that Stephen was okay. It could've just been him passed out on the couch and he'd be fine. He just needed rest.  
  
A blur of crimson flew towards him. Before he could register what was happening, the fabric was pulling at his wrist, leading him to the study. Maybe Stephen was asleep at his desk and needed some food?  
  
But lo and behold, Stephen Strange was not on the couch or at his desk. He was collapsed on the floor, an entire shade paler than before.  
  
"Shit." 

* * *

Stephen woke up spread out on a gurney in a private medical room. His body was warmed all over. Death briefly crossed his mind until Steve walked towards his cot.  
  
"Doctor. Talk to me."  
  
He struggled to sit up. Luckily, the Cloak managed to lift himself.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Good, you're still alive," Steve said. "Mind telling me why you're running a fever?"  
  
Stephen groaned, which segued into a painful cough, and pinched the bridge of his nose.  
  
"It's this ailment. It's some sort of spell. Nausea, migraines, fatigue, fever...that's why I need to find--"  
  
"That's not magic," Steve shot him down. "That's stress. You're overworking yourself. Please just take a break."  
  
Stephen tried to argue, but he was cut off by a coughing fit. When his small bout ended, he saw a cold glass of water in front of him, presented by Steve.  
  
"Drink."  
  
He eyed the glass for a bit, but then proceeded to carefully drink out of it. It was refreshing against his burning temperature.  
  
When he was done, he handed it back.  
  
"Okay," he admitted, voice weak. "Perhaps I do need to take a break."  
  
Steve smirked with relief and went to dim the lights.  
  
"The first thing would be to take a nap." He flashed a friendly grin. "Those rings around your eyes doesn't really fit the hero archetype, you know?"  
  
Rolling his eyes, Stephen relaxed into the comforting warmth of the pillows and drifted off into a much-needed sleep. 


	5. unexpected caretaker

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry i havent updated in awhile!! i've been busy studying for school ^w^ but here's the next few prompts!!
> 
> TW: blood

Stephen retched up blood behind the tree he managed to collapse next to. He'd never been a fist fighter, as evident by the literally gut-wrenching blow he was subjected to during the heat of battle. Luckily, he made it out alive. Possibly. 

He felt cold fingers pull back the locks of his hair. Struggling to lift his head, he saw the Asgardian prince himself (the mean one) holding his hair carelessly in one hand, looking as bored as could be. 

"What are you doi--?"

Cutting his thought short with a painful heave, he could sense Loki rolling his eyes. 

"I'm holding your hair back. Obviously." 

Well, yeah. He could see that. Sure he was on their side this time, but he still didn't exactly feel...comfortable around the ex-tyrant. 

"Why are you helping me?"

"Because my brother likes you and he'd be mad if I didn't get you back home safely," he helped Stephen stand up. "Now come on, we have a long road ahead of us." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm thinking of expanding on each of these mini-drabbles after the month is over and basically posting them as updated versions. would that sound good?


	6. illness

"I didn't even know you could get the flu." 

"Shut up," Stephen muttered, falling to the wall of the bathroom. 

"I mean, you're a wizard, right? Shouldn't you be immune to those sorts of things?" 

He coughed into his fist and turned to glare at Tony. "Can you just get me some water, please?" 

He said it just to get him out of his hair, but he came back just as quickly as he had left. 

"Here you go," he handed Stephen the glass, briefly feeling the fierce warmth of his hand. "Jeez, that's one hell of a fever." 

Screwing his eyes shut, he drank the cool water, only for it to come back up almost immediately. He hung his head over the bowl miserably, convulsing as he spat up the still-cold water. 

He felt a gentle hand rub circles into his back. "You should go home," Tony suggested, surprisingly lacking any humor in his voice. "I'll cover for you."

Stephen shook his head, which only made him more nauseated. "I can't--" 

"No, you can," he insisted. "Once you're done with..you know...we'll get you home." 

He would've argued further, but he was pretty much incapable of doing so in his state. So, he just sighed in resignation. 

"Fine. I'll go--" 

He heaved once again, closing his eyes and trying not to listen to Tony as he whispered, "I told you so." 


	7. sick with a subordinate

"First time being poisoned, huh?" Clint asked with a semblance of a smirk. 

Stephen felt warmed all over, not just from embarrassment. His skin had paled only a few minutes ago, right before he had to hang his head over the bucket next to his bed. He had no clue what those HYDRA agents injected into them, but it was burning through his entire body. 

"Please don't watch me right now," he pleaded in-between his coughing. "It's weird." 

"Don't worry," Clint assured as he rested into the pillows of his hospital bed. "It's just an after-effect. You'll be fine after a few hours." 

A few **_hours?_**

"What about you? Why aren't you sick?" 

"I'm used to it, at this point," he smiled to himself. "Plus I puked in the bushes before we boarded the Quinjet, you just didn't see me." 

"Clever," he drawled. He brought himself onto his bed, staring at the ceiling as he tried to remain comfortable. "How long is the ride home?"

He hummed. "3 hours. At the very least." 

With a groan, he curled up like a sick cat. "Fantastic." 


	8. reluctant caretaker

Stephen snagged the rag out of the Cloak's corner and pressed it to his mouth. However, he noticed that it hadn't entered the door like it usually did. It was right outside the door, quivering almost. Lifting a weak hand, he beckoned his friend to come towards him. 

"It's okay, you can come here." 

The Cloak hesitated, but slowly entered the door and drifted towards him. It was still shaking, however, and the rim of the collar seemed fixated on the toilet between them. Stephen understood just what exactly it was upset about and chuckled.

"Are you scared?" It nodded its collar. Stephen shook his head, extending a comforting hand. "I'm not dying, it's just an after effect of my magic." 

The Cloak relaxed a bit. Stephen felt fabric covering his shoulders in a tender embrace. 

"I'm okay. I just need some tea right now. Can you do that for me?" 

It nodded its collar excitedly and quickly went out the door to retrieve the teacup. Stephen watched it and smiled. 

"Thank you, old friend." 


	9. sent home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a long one!! compared to the other chapters, i mean. but hey! i got it out on time!!

"Go home."

Stephen Strange could barely comprehend what the Captain had told him through his pounding migraine. Judging by Steve's expression, he could tell.

"You're sick," he iterated, enunciating each word so Stephen could hear him. "You're in no shape to be standing here today. Go home."

The sorcerer swayed on his feet, shaking his head in denial, which only resulted in a pained groan that further proved Steve's point.

"I'm not sick..." Stephen mumbled, pinching the bridge of his congested nose. Steve winced at the raspiness of his voice. "Today is just an off day. Everyone has off da--"

A cough erupted from his chested, followed by another, then another, and soon Stephen was caught in a fit. Steve quickly grabbed his shoulders, seated him in a nearby seat, and proceeded to grab a glass of water. When he returned, Stephen was resting his face in his palm, his elbow shivering as it relaxed on the armrest.

"You're sick," Steve restated, handing him the glass. Stephen tiredly accepted it without a single word. "I want you to go home and rest. Take a day off. Everyone has days off."

Once the glass was empty, Stephen breathlessly set it down on the table next to him. He rolled his eyes and sighed.

"Fine," he croaked begrudgingly. "But I'll be back tomorrow."

"Not if you're still sick."

Getting up from his seat, he pointed a finger at him. "You'll see."

Steve watched as he trudged out of the HQ, a pang of guilt striking him in his heart.

"Please call me when you get home."

He got no response as Stephen limped out of his sight.

* * *

After three hours and zero phone calls, Steve decided to pay the good doctor a visit for himself. He managed to put together a small care package and hoped he had gotten enough rest to accept it. Surely Stephen wouldn't mind a brief visit, would he? 

He found the Sanctum easily enough. Right as he went to pull the handle, however, the doors slammed open by themselves.

"Well, that's something," Steve mused as he walked inside. The doors slammed shut behind him, rendering him alone in the empty Sanctum Sanctorum.

Well, him, his thermos, and the unconscious body of Doctor Strange right in front of him.

The first time this happened was on the battlefield, and he panicked. He immediately brought him to the medbay, calling for all types of tests, only for the good doctor to wake up ten minutes later and clarify that he only had a fever. Steve had apologized and told him to rest.

The second time this happened was in the HQ, and he was much calmer. He ordered everyone else to help Stephen onto the couch, brought him some water and medication, and watched over him for a good two hours or so. When he finally woke up, he gave a very exhausted, half-hearted "thank you" before turning over and passing out again. Despite this, Steve still scolded him for pushing himself over his boundaries.

Now this was the third time, and all he could do was sigh and shake his head. He went to pick his body up, noting the thick drool on his chin and the smell from the houseplant at the front of the entrance, and proceeded to carry him to his bedroom. Was it his bedroom? Either way, it had a bed, good enough.

He set Stephen onto the bed, who winced in his sleep at the sudden movement.

"Why am I not surprised to see you like this?" Steve muttered to himself, brushing Stephen's hair off of his sweaty forehead as he left the thermos on the nightstand. "You should eat something."

Of course, Stephen didn't respond, but nevertheless Steve made his way downstairs into his kitchen. He steered away from the fridge, remembering Stephen's offhand warning about it during a get together (though he could've been joking...? Probably not.) Amidst the alien snacks and interdimensional flower decorations, he laid his eyes on a bowl of fruit on the dining table. An apple probably wouldn't hurt, right?

He grabbed the apple from the bowl, and almost immediately afterwards he heard a pained retch upstairs.

"God dang it," Steve whispered, grabbed a trash bin from the kitchen, and rushed to the room. Lo and behold, Stephen was out of bed and in the bathroom right behind the bed, puking his guts out.

He went to grab his hair out of his face and rubbed his back. Tears streamed down Stephen's face after every miserable heave.

And yet, he still had the nerve to lift his head above the bowl and mutter "I'm fine."

Steve didn't even shake his head. He just dryly remarked, "says the man sweating up a storm and puking in the toilet."

Stephen opened his mouth to retort, but all that came out was more bile. He clung to the bowl for dear life, panting heavily in-between each heave. He was extremely gross, extremely sweaty, and absolutely unpleasant to look at.

And yet, Steve stayed right behind him the entire time. He didn't scoff, laugh, or scowl. He just stayed right by his side and waited for all of it to be over. 

Once he was reduced to dry-heaving, Steve wrapped his arm around his shoulders and carried him off the bathroom floor to the soft mattress.

"Where's the Cloak?" He asked, realizing the lack of his signature satin sidekick.

"I secured it in the closet after it nearly choked me trying to pull me away from the door," Stephen replied. He weakly waved his hand, and the motion instantaneously changed his heavy robes into a light T-shirt and shorts.

"And you still think you're not sick?" Steve snarked. He pressed the back of his hand onto his forehead. "You have a fever--"

Stephen swatted his hand away.

"What started as a simple cold turned into a fever, and then the flu, and now a stomach virus," he groggily explained. "See? I can take care of myself."

Steve only responded with a sad chuckle and a roll of his eyes. The fever was making him delusional. Or that could've been just him.

"I wouldn't expect anything less from Doctor Stephen Strange."

He looked around the room, the silence emphasizing the loneliness within the mansion. Had he not decided to pay him a visit, he would've been on the floor of the Sanctum, wallowing in his own fluids. Well he still was, but at least he was in a nice bed.

"So it's just you, huh?" Steve asked. "Living all alone in this...house?"

Stephen lifted his head and examined the room. "Yes, I suppose. Sometimes Wong visits, but I don't like taking too much of his time."

"You can just...tell us if you need some help. It's been a slow day, I'm sure we could get you some groceries, maybe clean around the house--"

"It doesn't like non-sorcerers exploring its bellows."

Steve raised an eyebrow. "It?"

As if on cue, the windows of the room flew open, the curtains flipping in the wind as a breeze entered. The wallpaper peeled off, replacing itself with a more appealing hue. Suddenly, the windows closed, the wallpaper remained still, and Stephen hummed.

"It." 

Impressed, Steve pressed his lips together. As he watched Stephen adjust to the bed, he grabbed the apple he had set down onto the drawer and threw it at him. "An apple a day keeps the doctor away."

Despite his ailment, Stephen caught it perfectly. "We hate that saying. Used to get it every single day." 

He took a small bite of the apple, paused to assess, then swallowed hesitantly. Without another bite, he set the apple onto his nightstand and curled up beneath the covers. 

"You should at least drink something," Steve suggested. 

"Do you think it's going to stay down?" Stephen remarked, not even bothering to lift his head up. 

"It's better than being dehydrated."

"You act like I'm not a doctor."

"You act like I haven't survived scarlet fever. In the _1930's_." 

Still ignoring him, Stephen tried to fall asleep, but it proved harder than expected. He still felt nauseous and uncomfortable. Obviously his body wouldn't be sparing him today. 

Steve had left the room, apparently, and returned with a cup of tea. He walked over to the side of the bed and practically shoved it in his face. 

"Come on, drink."

Stephen glared at him, hoping to push him away, but to his surprise he felt himself rising up. Looking aside, he noticed that the Cloak had managed to make it back to him. Of course Steve would've freed it, what was he thinking?

The Cloak carefully took the cup out of his hands and brought it to Stephen's lips. He couldn't really fight it at this point. It tasted nice, though. A bit too sweet for his liking, but it was refreshing.

"What type of tea is this? Earl grey, ginseng, chamomile?"

"Uh, World Market?" 

Stephen rolled his eyes. 

"You didn't even leave in the teabag." 

Steve smiled, taking the teacup back and setting it right next to the apple. 

"Just go to sleep. Try to get some actual rest instead of forcing yourself on your feet."

"Steve--" 

Steve flashed him an assertive glare. "I command you to obey orders, Doctor." 

He froze, realizing that there wasn't any point in arguing now. The Cloak lowered him down onto the bed and he let his head sink into the pillows. 

"Roger that," he mumbled tiredly. 

Satisfied at last, Steve sat down in the chair beside the bed to keep an eye over him as he slept. Who knew he'd needed this much help getting to bed. 


	10. vertigo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aight so i worked a lot on this one so i hope u guys enjoy it tyty

The world beneath Stephen's feet tilted as he descended onto the ground. He felt sweat beading down his forehead. Despite the newfound calmness of the battlefield, the ground felt unbalanced as he stood. He had to fight to keep himself from falling. 

He was hyperventilating, but he didn't know why. He was on solid ground, so why did it still feel like the world was spinning? Staggering, he felt the Cloak guide him through his path. His head was throbbing beyond belief. Had it always been like this? 

Raising a hand to his forehead, he felt the thick warmth emanating off of his skin. Guess that spell did a number on him. His vision was constantly interrupted by swift blurs of people racing off of the battlefield. Voices crowded his mind, which only increased the pounding in his skull. He felt nausea rising in his gut, not helped by the fact that the dizziness was not going away anytime soon. 

Desperate, he began to yell. 

"Wong?!"

No response. He yelled louder. 

"Wong?! Where are you?! I need you! I need..."

His words drifted off as he felt a hand fall onto his shoulder. 

"I'm here." 

He wanted to turn around. He wanted to see him. He _needed_ to see him. 

"Your body is giving out," Wong said, trying to keep him calm. "We need to get you to the Sanctum." 

But the world was still spinning. 

Before he could say anything else, his nausea came to a head and he vomited between them. He wished he could have apologized, but his brain couldn't think of any more words. The world wasn't spinning anymore. It had given up on him. 

He heard Wong scream his name in distress, before darkness consumed his vision and he fell into the soft fabric of the Cloak. 

* * *

He woke up 5 hours later on the couch in his study. All he had on was a loose tank top and some sweatpants. The sour taste in his mouth was the only evidence he needed to convince him that he didn't just experience a nightmare. 

"Good, you're awake." 

Stephen struggled to look up at Wong, who remained stoic but was concealing the relief in his voice. He set down a small bowl of fruit and a cup of tea on the table in front of him. 

"When you're ready, replenish your strength," he instructed him. "But first-- get some rest. You look like you need it." 

Stephen said nothing as he lowered his head back into the pillows and proceeded to drift off once again. He didn't like the idea of him still looking like shit 5 hours later, but he wasn't going to argue. 

The world wasn't spinning anymore, and he preferred it that way. 


	11. sick and alone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this ones lowkey a sequel to #3 (dizzy)!!

"Well," Stephen moaned, curled up on the cool porcelain of the bathroom floor. "Guess it's gonna be a long day." 

He had taken Natasha's advice from the last time he felt nauseated and called in sick. Granted, this spared him the embarrassment of staining their carpeting, but it also meant he was going to have to suffer alone today. He just wanted to pass out and wake up new, but he knew his body had a long way to go before it decided to spare him. 

The first step was expelling any and all contents of his stomach as painfully as possible. No exceptions. Not even a drop of water was exempt from this bug. He knew he wasn't in the right state of mind right now, but for a moment Stephen briefly considered teleporting to the Dark Dimension just so he could be put out of his misery. 

It wasn't like being sick alone was anything new for him. While he rarely contracted stomach bugs during his time as a neurosurgeon, he accepted a long time ago that it was easier being sick alone than to burden someone else with the task of taking care of him. He accepted sympathy, but he didn't accept help. That day in the HQ was a slip-up-- for a while, he didn't just forget he was capable of being sick, but that he was allowed to take a sick day if needed as well. Huh. 

He retched again, nearly colliding against the wall once he was done. He didn't even care about going to bed, he was willing to pass out right here, right now. This was absolute misery, which was amazing coming from the guy who faced literal abominations face to face. 

"Long day indeed," he mumbled to himself as he fell back to the floor with a raspy groan. 


	12. "do you think you can make it to the bathroom?"

"Do you think you can make it to the bathroom?" 

Stephen nearly fell into the wall as Scott tried to lead him through the hallway. 

"Wh-where is the bathroom?" He slurred, half-conscious. HIs skin paled rapidly, and Scott soon realized the answer to his question. The only thing he could do now was act fast. 

He scrambled into a nearby room and launched for the first receptacle he could see. Lucky for him, that happened to be a sturdy plastic waste bin. 

"Here." 

He handed Stephen the bin, who took it as quickly as Scott had found it. As soon as he retched, Scott turned his eyes in an attempt to give him some sort of privacy. 

It went on for a few minutes, fortunately with no one happening to pass by, and by the end the both of them were sitting on the ground. Scott grabbed the bin out of his hands and, while averting his gaze, stuffed it away into another, darker room. It was someone else's problem now. 

"Stephen?" He whispered, walking towards the sorcerer lying in the ground in pain. "You okay?" 

He coughed weakly in response. Scott kneeled down next to him and ran his fingers through his hair, trying to comfort him as best as he could. 

"Next time," he began. "Let's go back to your place after you pull off a spell like that. We can ride out the side-effects together." 

He gave Stephen a soft smile, who delivered one back before letting his face fall into his thigh. Scott stroked his arm, watching him drift off, and proceeded to carry him away to somewhere more private. 


	13. dry heaving

"Alright, I think that's enough." 

Christine wrapped an arm around Stephen's waist and hoisted him up off the floor of his bathroom. He'd been dry heaving for hours, but nothing happened. He was stubborn as always, but he was weak. Stephen whined at the movement, wrapping his arms around his abdomen. 

"Christine--"

"You're done," she assured, carrying him to his bed. "You're finished. You need to get some rest." 

Carefully, she helped him into his bed and placed the blanket over his shoulders. 

"I feel goddamn terrible..." Stephen mumbled, receiving a nod from his friend. 

"I couldn't tell," she joked with a smirk. "I'm gonna go get you some water. Just go to sleep. I'll be right here when you get back." 

Stephen fought against his exhaustion for a bit, but soon his attempts were proven useless as his eyes fell as his body went limp. Christine sighed in relief and got up to make her way to the kitchen. She turned the lights off, opened the door as quietly as possible, and wished him a good nap. 


	14. whiny

"Hold meee...." Stephen drawled. He reached beyond his position in his bed to wrap his arms around Karl's waist. 

Karl could barely withhold his grunt. He detangled himself out of the man's weak arms and placed a newly cleaned bucket beside his mattress. 

"You're sweaty, you're sick, and you're delirious," he remarked. But Stephen didn't relent (when did he?) 

"I feel terrible and I just want to be held," he whined again, looking up at Karl with wide eyes. 

Goddamnit. He just couldn't turn him away, could he? He silently reprimanded himself for what he was about to say. 

"I'll hold you if you promise to fall asleep in my arms," Karl obliged, kicking himself mentally. "Okay?" 

Stephen smiled with both delirium and cockiness. He always got what he wanted. 

"Okay," he sang. Karl rolled his eyes and got onto the covers, wrapping Stephen up in an embrace. He felt Stephen nestle against his chest, his eyes swiftly closing "I love youuuuu." 

It was pathetic, he thought. Karl Mordo-- a man with the knowledge of some of the most powerful mystic arts imaginable --rendered weak by his lover's pleas. But even with Stephen sharing his germs with him, even after having to clean up his messes over and over again (in more ways than one), he couldn't help but think it was all worth it. 


	15. free day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i chose to go for something a bit silly this time!! come to think of it, i feel like im not really..."doing" this month right since it's more focused on whump than actual emeto? idk i might cut it off early since i have a lot of other fics planned atm but we'll see where that goes lol 
> 
> most likely though i'll post the larger fics on their own here by the end of the month ahsuhs;fhjdhfj

The worst type of torture was the type that lingered on. The type that clung on and kept on torturing you even though you should be far beyond death already. Cause at least death reached a conclusion. 

Stephen leaned against the wall of the HQ, trying to keep himself from gagging all over his robes. The only image running through his mind at the moment was the sorcerer that struck the poison spell at him. 

Why couldn't it have been a standard lightning spell? Or even just a magical dagger? This couldn't even be classified as poison, at least poison was lethal. 

Well as long as nobody noticed, he could probably make it to the end of the day. 

"Doc, if you're gonna be sick, then go back to your mansion," Tony said out of the blue. Speak of the devil. 

Stephen looked up at him with a sharp glare. "I'm not sick," he argued stubbornly. 

"Are you sure?" Natasha asked. "You look pretty sick to me." 

"Plus you've been standing there for like 10 minutes without saying anything," Steve added on. 

Tony pointed a finger at his pallid skin. "You look even paler than usual. Just go home and stop coming to work sick." 

He narrowed his eyes at him. Of course he knew he was right, but it wasn't like he was gonna admit it. He had a job to do there, and by God, he was going to complete it. 

"I'm not sick!" he argued again. "I was fine earlier!" 

In the midst of their arguing, Natasha grabbed an empty trash bin and placed it right near Stephen's feet. She stepped back a bit, right in front of the couch, and crossed her arms. Steve, being the only one to notice, followed and leaned into her.

"What are you doing?" He asked. Natasha just grabbed his shoulder defensively. 

"Stand back," the two of them watched the argument play out. Steve noticed Natasha muttering something under her breath, like she was anticipating something. He kept his eyes glued on Stephen, watching how his skin was quickly growing paler and even more sweaty. Natasha raised her hand. "And 3, 2, 1..." 

Right as she reached the end of her countdown, Stephen abruptly ended his side of the argument by grabbing the bin and doing exactly what everyone thought he would do. 

"Just as I thought," Tony seized the opportunity to be smug, as he always did. Stephen lifted his head momentarily to scowl at him, only to be cut off by another sickly retch. Despite that, Tony rubbed his back and proceeded to carefully guide him over to the couch. "Sit down. I'll get you a juice box." 

* * *

A few minutes later, after Stephen was reduced to dry heaving, the three of them grouped up in the kitchen. Tony was pacing back and forth, a hand stroking his chin in thought. 

"He's right," he admitted, quiet enough so Stephen wouldn't hear him "He wasn't sick earlier. We would've noticed." 

"Well, what happened?" Nat shrugged. "Is it food poisoning?" 

"No, he never eats before a mission," Tony shot down. "Superstition or whatever." 

"Then what happened during the mission?" Steve asked. 

Tony kept replaying the battle in question in his mind. Just earlier that day, they were caught in a conflict with a band of rogue sorcerers in a nearby museum. He didn't understand a single spell being thrown around, he just blasted them as best as he could. Briefly, he saw Stephen levitate past him, going face-to-face with a particularly meek sorcerer who shot some sort of energy bolts toward him.

"He was just caught in a battle with some guy..." 

Come to think of it, the bolts were green. Disgustingly green. And Stephen did start looking pretty sluggish right after he was hit...

Tony sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I--" 

"Hate magic?" Stephen finished weakly, 

"Go to sleep," Tony shot back sternly. "Steve, give Stephen his juice. Natasha, get some clean blankets."

As the two initiated their tasks, Tony grabbed out his phone. He dialed a number and pressed it to his ear. 

"Kid. I got a babysitting gig for you."

* * *

About 10 minutes later, Tony led Peter down the corridor of the HQ. The teen had been fidgeting nervously as he trailed behind him, wondering what the sudden babysitting gig could be. 

"So, uh, Mr. Stark?" Peter piped up, tugging the straps of his backpack. "Who's the kid?" 

Ignoring his questions, Tony stopped at a room, dialed a code into the number pad next to the door, and led Peter inside. 

"Him." 

Within the dimmed lights, a large knob rested on the bed, curled up in blankets. Upon hearing Tony's voice, Peter watched Stephen pop his head out. The two stared at each other momentarily, both taken aback by the situation. 

"...I think he's a little old to be babysat." 

"Just keep him company while we're away," Tony patted Peter on the back. "Get him drinks or whatever he might need. Did you bring your old 3DS?" 

He dug into his backpack and pulled the console out of a small pocket. "Yeah." 

"Teach him how to play Animal Crossing or whatever. Try to keep him distracted. We can't let him get too worked up or else he'll get worse." 

"Assuming anything can be worse than this?" Stephen croaked, hugging his pillow.

"Pipe down, Houdini," he turned back to Peter. "You think you can do this for me?" 

With a bright smile, Peter playfully saluted him. "I'm on it!" 

As he left Peter to keep Stephen company, Tony met up with the rest of his team as they watched over the security cams from the museum that morning. 

"Alright, who's the guy we're dealing with?" 

Nat paused on a specific moment and zoomed in. "This guy," she pointed to a scrawny looking guy throwing the spell at Stephen. 

"So he must have a cure, right?" Steve brought up. "We find his location, 

"Why can't we just call Wong?" Tony asked. 

"Stephen told me not to disturb him," he replied. "It's been a long week for him, apparently." 

"Guess we're doing this alone, then." 

* * *

In a tiny, worn-out house cluttered with different mystical relics and potion flasks, a young man was scanning a spell book. He didn't think of himself as anything important, just a regular wizard with some knowledge in magic who was a part of a casually violent sorcerer alliance. Nothing big. 

So imagine his surprise when his reading was interrupted by the Avengers -- the _Avengers_ \-- standing on his doorstep. 

"Drop your weapons." Iron Man stated, holding a repulsor at him. 

Without saying anything, he slowly closed his book (making sure he didn't lose his place) and placed it on the floor. The three heroes walked into his house, closing the door behind them. 

Iron Man lowered his arm, intending to talk face-to-face with him. He didn't run away-- he physically couldn't. 

"Hey there, Magic Man--" 

"My name is Kevin," he whispered meekly. 

Iron Man paused, then shook his head quickly. "Okay...Kevin. You might remember us from a few hours ago. You shot our wizard friend with a poisonous bow and made him puke up his guts for the rest of the afternoon?" 

Kevin blinked, his face lighting up innocently. 

"Wait, that worked?" his eyes widened. 

Black Widow eyed him curiously. "H-He's been hurling in our HQ since noon." 

"Holy shit!" he exclaimed, running his hand through his hair in astonishment. "It was supposed to be a light nausea spell! You know, like when you smell something kinda bad but not so bad that your body rejects every fluid in your body?" 

Black Widow looked at Captain America, who looked at Iron Man, who looked at Kevin with nothing but annoyed contempt. 

"What would you have done if it _didn't_ work?"

Kevin shrugged. "I dunno, stab him maybe." 

Iron Man stared at him. He didn't strike him. He didn't yell at him. He just stared at him long and hard. Eventually, he sighed heavily, and crossed his arms. 

"Alright, alright. Look, Kevin, we don't want to hurt you. We just need a cure, please. And I know you're probably gonna retali--" 

"Take it." Kevin dug into his pockets and threw a small vial at him. 

He almost didn't catch it. Surprised, he inspected it thoroughly. It didn't _look_ like poison, but then again he wasn't a goddamn wizard. 

Captain America looked confused. "...You're just gonna give it to us?" 

"Yeah, you said please." 

"You tried to kill our friend and you're cool with giving us the cure?" Iron Man asked. 

"I only do this as a side-hobby!" Kevin defended himself, sticking his arms in the air. "Just don't tell the leader or whatever, he'd probably stab me if he found out." 

Iron Man, Black Widow, and Captain America all stared at him, not knowing what to do. He didn't look like a threat. He barely looked like a bad guy. Guess they won. 

"...Cool," Iron Man said, walking out of his house. "See you later, I guess."

The three of them left the cowering man in his house. They made their way back to the HQ with the cure in hand. 

"Well, that was easy."

"And less bloody than I thought." 

"We dressed up for _that_?" 

* * *

The door to Stephen's room opened and Tony stepped inside. He raised the vial up, presenting it proudly. 

"Well, we have the cure--" 

"So just carry the 1, and--" Stephen was looking over Peter's shoulder until the three of them came in. "Oh hey. You're back." 

Tony paused in the doorway, gawking at the sight of Stephen, out of bed, glancing at Peter's math journal. It wasn't like he was even fit to be out of bed. Sure, he looked mildly better, but he was still pale as shit and he was noticeably swaying. He turned at Peter and scowled. 

"Are you doing homework?" He watched as Peter awkwardly nodded. "You are supposed to be watching over him!" 

"He's helping me!" Peter replied, nervously. 

Tony turned to Stephen and pointed at him as well. 

"And you're supposed to be resting!" 

Stephen really couldn't care less. In his hands was Peter's 3DS. "Yeah, I'm playing Animal Crossing, I'm the most relaxed I've been since I was born." 

He pinched the bridge of his nose, walked up to him, and forced the vial to his chest. "Drink this." 

It should've been obvious that Stephen was still ill when he didn't question him at all. He didn't even take any time to inspect the vial, he just uncorked it and drank the contents. 

"Good? Good," he turned Stephen around and pushed him back to the bed. "Now, go to sleep. You're spending the night here. If that potion turns out to be another poison or whatever, we'll be here to rescue you." 

"Cool," was the only word out of Stephen's mouth. He was so compliant, it was unnerving. He even smiled! "Thank you for helping me." 

Leading Peter out of the room, he spared a moment to look over his shoulder and shoot one last comment at him before he fell asleep for the rest of the day. 

"Thank you for not making too much of a mess." 


	16. unexpected

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aight so this one turned out to be far longer than i expected ashgflf';sjfda;k i'll probably finish it later down the line and post it on its own, but for now enjoy!!

It had been a long day. All Scott wanted to do was pass out for 8 hours and wake up with his normal life back. His normal, divorced father, life. He'd been heroing it up for so long, his own life was becoming just his alter-ego.  
  
However, he was awoken in the middle of the night by an odd noise. The first thing he noticed was that the noise was coming from his bathroom, which was odd because he swore he turned off the light before going to bed. He tiredly walked to the door in silence, until another, similar noise erupted from the other side.  
  
"Uh, hey, it sounds like you're having a pretty rough time right now," he said, stifling a yawn. "But this is my house...do you want me to call an ambulance?"  
  
A pause. Scott hears a whimper from the other side of the door, followed by another strangled sound.  
  
Guess he wouldn't be getting an answer anytime soon.  
  
"I'm sorry," he whispered, clutching the doorknob. It was an invasion of privacy, and whoever (or whatever) was on the other side of the door obviously sounded like they were in pain. But this is technically a break-in, which is technically illegal. He would know.  
  
"Please get out of my bathro--"  
  
Scott stopped in the doorway once he saw who was infiltrating his bathroom at this hour. Lo and behold, it was his boyfriend, Stephen Strange, kneeling in front of his toilet, shivering. Because of course it was.  
  
"Stephen?" He asked, rushing over to him. He woke up immediately, his annoyance washing away and being replaced with concern.   
  
"Sorry..." Stephen choked out. "Didn't know where else to go."  
  
"Hey, hey, it's fine," he assured. He placed his hand on Stephen's sweaty forehead, checking for a fever. "What's wrong?"  
  
"I-Incapacitating spell," Stephen muttered weakly, followed by another heave. "I wanted to go to the Sanctum, but all I could think about was you...ugh..."  
  
Another retch sent a flood of liquid into the bowl. He rubbed small circles into his back. He was stuck between cooing at that line, or calling 911. Granted the hospital probably knew less about whatever was happening than he did.  
  
"Do you wanna crash in my bed tonight?"  
  
"I don't want..." Stephen swallowed. "...to ruin your bed..."  
  
"Guest room?"  
  
"It's a bed owned by you..." he mused. "Still your bed. I'll just open a portal back to the Sanc--"  
  
He was interrupted by a violent cough. Stephen fell back on his kneels, eyes screwed shut, and groaned. His skin was almost green in the fluorescent lights. Scott had his hands on his shoulders, keeping him steady.  
  
"You're in no condition to be doing magic right now," Scott said, activating his authoritative mode. "If you don't want to sleep in my bed, you can sleep on my couch."  
  
Stephen breathed heavily for a while, contemplating the thought. He delivered his answer with a sigh.  
  
"Fine."  
  
Scott smiled softly and reached over to flush. He pressed a kiss against Stephen's forehead, ignoring Stephen's complaints about the sweat, and helped him off the floor.  
  
"Is the room spinning or is it just me?" Stephen muttered deliriously, leaning onto Scott.  
  
"It's just you, Stephen," he replied. "Just you."  
  


* * *

  
A few minutes and a change of clothes later, Stephen was on the couch, situated with a nearby bucket. A glass of water and a small plate of pills stared at him on the coffee table.  
  
"Cassie's coming over tomorrow," Scott whispered, caressing his hair. He was so exhausted he almost forgot he was crashing at his boyfriend's. "Just thought I'd let you know. I'll make sure she's not in your way."  
  
Stephen grinned.  
  
"She's a delight."  
  
"So are you," Scott said, grinning back. "But you're a mess, and you need rest."  
  
Stephen nodded weakly and sunk into his pillow.  
  
"I'm sorry for breaking in, by the way," he said.  
  
Scott got up and shook his head. "Don't apologize. It's not your fault."  
  
He made his way to his own room, but paused briefly to look back at Stephen.  
  
"I love you."  
  
Stephen could barely keep his eyes open, but he managed to make out a soft "I love you" back.  
  
The last thing he saw was Scott leaving the room before dizziness took him whole.


	17. trying to stay stoic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Torture

Drip, drip, drip...

Cradling his aching stomach, Stephen wallowed on the ground of his chamber, trying not to scream. He felt naked within the walls of this prison, haunted by the recollection of the demons that dragged him there kicking and screaming. His breaths were hollow, interrupted by sharp coughs every few seconds. Blood trailed down his face, staining the grievous, rocky floor. 

He couldn't take it anymore. He vomited onto the floor, unable to contain the pain any longer. The torture was immense, and he nearly passed out right then and there. He coughed some more, spitting vile acid onto the ground, and fell against the wall. A sob escaped his lips, but just once. He couldn't cry. He couldn't break. Not now, not ever. 

Once he was saved, only then could he cry. But for now, he had to be as stoic as he could when facing his opponents. 


	18. i've just never had anyone really take care of me before

Gamora grimaced as she heard Stephen retch again from his bed. He had been paired with the Guardians to take on a mystical threat, and while he performed exquisitely (a pleasant surprise), he burned himself out immensely. 

She turned around, looking at his ragged state. "Are you okay?"

"...Yeah, yeah," Stephen said, senselessly. He struggled to lie back down on his bed. "You know, aside from the obvious." 

She walked over to him and examined his body. 

"You're tense."

"I've just never had anyone taking care of me," his explanation was laced with a chuckle. "I'm the doctor, after all. I wouldn't want to take up anyone's time." 

"You're in terrible shape," she told him, astonished by his nonchalant behavior. "You're running a fever, you're expelling numerous amounts of fluids, and your body is horribly fatigued. I'd be surprised if you were able to take care of yourself." 

"Well, that's normal for me," Stephen assured.

She glanced at him. "That's not a good thing," she stated. "You're just a human. At this rate, you're gonna end up killing yourself faster than any magical anomaly." 

"Well, as long as I'm doing my job, then fine." 

He was getting on her nerves. How could he be this...odd? Didn't he value his own life? 

She grabbed a towel, ran it under some cold water, and walked back to Stephen. 

"Go to sleep," she said as she unrolled it onto his forehead. "You really need it. I know we'll be back to Earth in a few hours, but I think you'd prefer it if you weren't lucid." 

Stephen's eyes widened. He briefly relaxed, his body untensing for just a moment. "Th-Thanks," he said, almost a whisper. "Are you sure you're not the leader of this team?" 

Gamora smirked, shaking her head. "I like to think we're all leaders at some point. We're a team, after all. We all take care of each other in some sort of way." 

She watched as Stephen smiled at her as he began to rest. There was something about him that she couldn't quite place. She made her way out of the room, dimming the lights so he wouldn't disturb his sleep. 


	19. cramps

"You need a heating pad, buddy?" 

Tony had walked into the bathroom of the Quinjet to find Stephen on the ground, arms wrapped tightly around his abdomen. He had been groaning for the past 30 minutes, but hadn't thought to ask for assistance. 

"I'm good," he muttered weakly through a cramp. 

Tony cocked an eyebrow at him. "I'm getting you a heating pad." 

He walked over to the cabinet of healing supplies and pulled out a fresh heating pad. After microwaving it for about 30 seconds, he walked back to the bathroom where Stephen had managed to force himself against the wall. He glared at Tony as he popped through the doorway. 

"I said I'm _good_."

"Don't be so mean," he snarked back. "I'm just trying to help you. Here." 

He handed Stephen the pad, not expecting him to take it right away. The sorcerer ogled it for a while, before finally taking it and pressing it against his side. 

Tony looked down on him in his pathetic state and, surprising the both of them, sat down. 

"How often does this happen?" He asked. 

Stephen hesitated. "Practically every day," he whispered, wrapping his arms around his waist. He winced, brushing a hand through his messy hair, but powered through it. 

Tony huffed, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry." 

"It's fine," Stephen replied with a tired chuckle. "Can't really say I didn't sign up for it." 

The two stayed that way for a bit, embarrassment washing over both of them. It was weird-- they were practically strangers still. To try and ease the tension, Tony pulled his hand back and got up on his feet. 

"You need anything else? Water? A blanket?" 

Stephen shifted towards the ground now, his eyes closing as he felt another surge of pain course through his body. 

"Water sounds nice." 

Tony looked at him, feeling the slightest bit sympathetic about his frail state. He didn't know what else to do besides nod his head and walk away to get him some much-needed water. 

"Gotcha." 


	20. "yeah, you totally look fine."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> continuation of chapter 1 ("definitely not fine")

As he got up from the rubble of the streets, the first thing Stephen saw through his nauseated haze was Clint running up to him. 

"How're you doing?" He asked, disguising it as a simple question. 

Shutting his eyes in pain, he gagged into his hand. "I'm _fine_."

But he wasn't fooling either of them. He didn't even know why he bothered to lie anyway. 

"Yeah, you look totally fine," Clint rolled his eyes. "Everyone's distracted. Just go into the alleyway." 

Stephen almost fell over himself as he turned his head towards the alley. He looked back at Clint, noting the few teammates that were checking in on each other not so far from them. 

"You sure?"

"I'll keep watch," Clint assured. "Just get some privacy." 

Realizing he couldn't argue any longer, Stephen rushed into the alleyway right as his stomach contracted. He hacked into the dirt, wincing as he heard it splatter to the ground. 

Luckily, it wasn't as grueling as usual. Perhaps fate had decided to spare him for once. He looked back at Clint, who was attentive at his post, and sighed gratefully. This little secret between them had been going on for weeks, with nobody even noticing. Some close calls, sure, but never a fully blown cover. 

It was disgusting, Stephen thought, to have a teammate who couldn't help but heave up his stomach after a single battle. Whether or not anybody saw him, it was embarrassing either way. He had a feeling Clint wouldn't be able to keep up the ruse forever, but it was nice to have a friend to help him when he needed it. 

Wiping his mouth, Stephen made sure nobody was chatting with Clint as he walked out of the alley. 

"You--?" Clint began to ask, right before he was cut off by a raised hand. 

"I'm fine." 


	21. stomach bug

"Is it a spell?"

"No."

"A hex?"

"No."

"An incanta--"

"Will you stop listing synonyms and hand me the Capri-Sun?" 

Scott handed an exhausted Stephen the drink and watched him sip it slowly. With a wince, he coughed it back into the toilet and groaned. 

"It's just a bug," he turned to Scott. "I can assure you-- it's just a bug."

"Well, when I find you up at 3 am in the bathroom, I get nervous," Scott said, brushing a strand of his hair back. 

"I know. But I'll be over it soon," he grinned. "I promise." 

Scott nodded, keeping his hands on Stephen's shoulders. "I'll stay with you," he whispered into his ear tenderly. "I'll stay until you feel better." 

Stephen felt himself warm up, not just from fever. He leaned back into Scott, thinking about which spell to cast to make sure he didn't catch whatever he had, and sighed. 

"Thank you." 


	22. "think i'm going to-"

"Hold on." 

Clea stopped in place, watching as her husband paused. He had one arm wrapped over his shoulders, trying his best not to shift all of his weight onto her. He had just encountered a few brief injuries on their mission, but for the most part, he seemed to be fine. 

But as his skin paled and the sweat beaded around his forehead, Clea began to worry. 

"...Holding on," she said, as if to signal that she was still there for him if he needed help. 

Stephen closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose, and sighed. "I think I'm going to--" 

He cut himself off as he abruptly pulled away from Clea and proceeded to vomit between them. 

"Shit, Stephen!" Clea rushed over to help him kneel down. She rubbed a soothing hand down his back, waiting for his stomach to calm down. Once he was done, he basically collapsed onto the ground, running a hand through his damp hair. 

"Well," he rasped, tears stinging his eyes. "That happened."

"You should try to rest for a moment," Clea raised a finger to his face, whispering a small healing spell to relieve him momentarily. "I'll call for help."

"No, no," Stephen took out his communicator. "It's my mess, I'll call for help."

She could only watch as he miserably brought the communicator to his ear and had to admit to Wong that he just got sick in the middle of their return. She had remembered Stephen telling her how badly he suffered after performing big spells, but she never expected something like that. 

"We're lucky," Stephen laughed as he tucked the communicator away. "Usually it's more vicious than that." 

Clea brushed her hand over his face again, wincing at his warm skin. "Why didn't you tell me if you were feeling sick?"

"I didn't want you to see it when it happened," he admitted weakly. "It's embarrassing." 

"You could've at least told me," she said. "Nothing you do could turn me away. You know that, right?" 

Stephen looked up to her, dazed, and gave her a slightly delirious smile. "Yeah, I know." 

She smiled back, leaning down to place her forehead to his burning one. The two intertwined fingers as they waited for the calvary to arrive. 

"Get well soon," Clea whispered in his ear. 


	23. in front of a crowd

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> final part of chapters 1 and 20 ("definitely not fine" & "yeah you totally look fine" respectively)

Vertigo struck Stephen with a vicious persecution. He had to cling to the wall to keep himself from falling over, the roughness of the bricks striking his skin. He tried his best to power through the pain, to look as inconspicuous as possible in front of his team. 

He didn't know how long he could manage. He still had to go over the debriefing and such, and...

"Hey, Strange," Looking up, he met eyes with Clint, who was looking at him worriedly. "Why don't you just leave early? I can tell everyone you weren't feeling well--" 

"No, no," Stephen insisted, ignoring the wave of nausea rising in his stomach. "I can wait it out, it's not too bad this time."

"What isn't too bad this time?" Steve asked as he made his way towards them. "Nice work out there, Strange. Hope you can make it to the afterparty."

The thought of partying was gruesome at the moment, but he managed to fake a smile. "Great! I'll try to be there." 

Clint side-eyed him. He ignored it as Tony joined their little circle. 

"Ah, I see you're free after work for once," he snarked. "How about we have some shots after the debriefing. You look like you could use a drink." 

Quite the opposite actually, but he nodded anyway. "Sure..." he said through gritted teeth. "But if you'll excuse me--" 

"Are we getting drinks?" Thor bellowed, joining the gang. Soon, a new conversation was beginning, and Stephen had been caught in it. 

No matter his efforts to suppress his nausea, it kept continuing to rise and rise and rise. He tried to find Clint for some sort of escape, but all the moving objects in the background was making him even more dizzy. 

Before he realized what was happening, his nausea came to a head and he ran to a nearby alleyway right as everything in his stomach began to spill out his mouth. It went on for what seemed like hours, even though it was only a few seconds. He nearly collapsed to the ground once he was done. 

Head spinning, the world was all but an afterthought, up until Clint cleared his throat behind him. Turning around, Stephen saw the Avengers staring right at him. Each of their eyes felt like they were piercing his soul. 

Steve approached him first. "Are you okay?" 

Rolling his eyes, Stephen felt himself sway forward. "What do you think?" 

"Hey, hey, sit down," Steve placed his hands on his shoulders to keep him from swaying anymore and helped him sit down on the ground. "You're okay." 

He looked up at the Avengers again, feeling smaller than ever. Well, it was bound to happen sooner or later. At least it was just them. 

"So now you know why I never join you guys after debriefings," he explained. 

"It's alright," Steve assured. "Why didn't you tell us?" 

He shrugged. "It's gross." 

"As if none of us have ever had a hangover before," Tony popped in. "It's natural." 

"How about you go home and get some rest? You can join us next time if you can." 

Gazing at the crowd, Stephen began to feel the weight of their eyes disappear, replaced with unanimous support. Clint looked at him softly, as if to let him know that they would've all been completely understanding in the first place. They were a team, after all. 

"Thank you," Stephen bowed his head gratefully as he opened a portal. "Sorry for making a mess, by the way." 

"Just let us know next time if you feel sick," Steve said. "And call us if you need any help." 

To his own astonishment, he smiled back at the group as he stepped into his portal and arrived in the comfort of his own room. 

Well, that wasn't as bad as he thought. 


	24. "don't puke on me!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: brief depictions of violence/horror, blood mention!! 
> 
> i've always wanted to write elsa bloodstone i think she's a really fun character 
> 
> i might actually extend this into a full fic because honestly it was a BLAST to write this one even if the ending was pretty dull

As he nearly retched yet again in her arms, Elsa flinched as she ran through the forest. 

"Don't puke on me!" She exclaimed, trying not to drop Stephen out of fear.

"Sorry," he muttered, half-annoyed. "It's not like I was hit with a class-A nausea spell or anything!" 

"Oh, just try to fall asleep or something," she sneered, trying to navigate her way to a safe spot. She knew he was suffering and a voice in the back of her head told her not to be so callous to him. But she was stressed, her mind was running at a thousand thoughts per second, and the so-called "Sorcerer Supreme" was on the verge of upchucking his lunch on her boots. 

A groan escaped his lips, making both of them realize it was no longer a matter of if but a matter of _when_. With a panic surging through her system, Elsa finally found an abandoned temple in the corner of her eye. She sprinted quicker than she ever did, making it to the stone steps just in time. She lowered Stephen onto the ground right before disaster struck. 

She winced as she watched him heave, space-stained ooze circling beneath him from his mouth. There were few things that she feared, but seeing dark violet liquid spilling out of a once powerful man made her freeze momentarily. Hesitant, she approached him, holding her hand out. Not knowing if he would allow her to rub his back, she carefully placed it right behind his temple and pulled a few stray strands of hair. 

He nearly fell into her once he was done. The first thing she noticed when he fell back was how his...mess seemed to be glowing. 

"Eugh," she wanted to avert her eyes, but she just couldn't. "What is that?" 

"Don't know," Stephen moaned as he brushed his sleeve against his mouth. "But it was horrid." 

"You can say that--" Elsa's eyes widened as he turned to her friend. 

Stephen cocked his head at her stunned expression. "What?" He asked, coughing directly afterwards. "What's wro...?"

He trailed off, weariness suddenly overtaking him. His hands searched for a safe spot to crash as his body began to give out. 

"Stephen!" Extending her arms out, she was able to take his shoulders and secure him back into a bridal carry right as he passed out. She examined him close-up, still horrified by his ragged appearance. 

In the place of the Sorcerer Supreme was a man weakened by magic more potent than she could ever imagine. Blood was sinking from his eyes, the same color as his vomit, and his veins radiated an ominous lilac shade against his all-too-white skin. She had no goddamn clue what spell he was struck by, but it was doing its job effortlessly. 

What was most terrifying, however, was that his pulse was starting to slow. And she still had no idea how to get back to New York. 


	25. calling in sick

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> final part of chapter 3 and chapter 11 ("dizzy" & "sick and alone" respectively)

"Hey. So...yeah. I'm not gonna be able to make it today."

"What's wrong?"

"I, uhm--" Stephen paused, shifting to his knees as he stifled a heave. "I'm kinda sick at the moment."

"Say no more," Steve replied, sympathy threaded in his tone. "Get some rest." 

"Thank you..." he stumbled to mumble as his head fell against the wall. He'd been up since 4 AM, dreading the idea of calling in sick for the 3rd time that month, but knowing it was inevitable. He couldn't even manage to hang up on his own. Right as he heard Steve calling his name on the other end of the line, exhaustion overtook him and he was out like a light. 

* * *

2 hours later, he awoke in his bed. Odd. He could've sworn he fell asleep in the bathroom. 

On his nightstand was a cup of tea, as well as a bowl of fruit. He didn't remember putting any of those there. The tea was cold, so it wasn't Wong, and there were no red threads on the fruit, so it wasn't the Cloak. 

Right as he was contemplating the answer to his question, the door opened softly. 

"Hey," Natasha popped her head through the frame. "You're awake." 

Stephen struggled to support himself as he tried to sit up. "N-Natasha?" 

"It's all of us, actually," she whispered. "Steve got worried when you didn't hang up, so we decided to check in on you. The bathroom is a really uncomfortable place to sleep, you know." 

His face blushed at the image of the city's defenders finding him passed out, half-naked, right next to his toilet. "I...didn't even realize what happened." 

"It's all good," she assured. "We're just glad you didn't come into work sick." 

He smiled at her, lying back down into his pillows. "Well, thanks for visiting me. I'd love to have you guys over. You know, in a preferably...less-gross state." 

"Is that a deal?" she asked. "I'm sure Peter would love looking at all of your weird relics." 

Chuckling, Stephen nodded. "It's a deal." 

Without another word, Natasha grinned as she exited the room, leaving him back to rest. 


	26. "i'm so sorry"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i think zelma is a really underrated character!! i wanna see more fics of her and stephen being a chaotic sibling duo they just have EXQUISITE energy together

The creak of the door echoed through the lonely Sanctum as Zelma stepped inside. Carrying a basket of herbs, she looked for Stephen in his study. But to her surprise, though there was a mess of papers all over his desk, he was nowhere to be found. 

"Doc? Is everything alright?" she asked. Suddenly, she heard a noise upstairs. Putting down her basket, she made her way up to the second floor to try and find him. "I've got the ingredients for that potion you wanted to--" 

She halted right in front of the bathroom, surprised at the open door. The first thing she saw was Stephen, hunched over the sink, dry heaving arduously. 

"...Oh." 

Alerted by her voice, Stephen looked up. His eyes were bloodshot, the bags beneath them making themselves clear. He looked tortured beyond belief. "Z-Zelma?"

Opening the door a bit more, she stepped inside. "Are you--?"

"I'm--" he interrupted himself to gag back into the running sink. "I'm so sorry you have to see me like this. Just go back downstairs, I'll be ready in a minute--" 

"Doc," she placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "You're not okay. Why don't you sit down for a moment?" 

He was tired, but he couldn't argue. He stumbled back, nearly falling backwards if it weren't for Zelma steadying him on the side of the bathtub. 

"How often does this happen?" She asked as she filled a cup set near the sink with water. 

The water was heaven for his throat, even if it made him shiver even more than before. She steadied his grip on the cup, taking it back as he finished. 

"A lot," Stephen weakly admitted. "Usually when you're not looking." 

She tensed up, her eyes widening slightly. Had she been this oblivious the entire time? 

"I'm...I'm so sorry I never noticed--"

"Don't--" he coughed, leaning over the bathtub. "Don't apologize. You haven't been noticing for a reason." 

He looked down, mortified at the situation right now. He knew he had been doing worse lately, but he never thought it would culminate into this. He didn't want Zelma blaming herself for something entirely out of her control. 

"I usually try to have this happen when you're not around," he admitted. "I don't want you to have to endure this." 

He nearly fell over again. Zelma caught up just in time, placing one hand on his chest to keep him upward. 

"How about we get you to bed, big guy?" she suggested. "You look like you need some rest. We can brew that potion tomorrow." 

He thought it over for a few seconds, but by the look of Zelma's expression, it wasn't like he had much of a choice. He allowed her to guide him to his bedroom, laying himself onto the sheets without even bothering to change out. 

"Thanks," he said groggily as he watched her place another glass of water on his nightstand. 

"No problem, Doc," Zelma replied, dimming the lights. "You're like a brother to me. Family takes care of family, after all." 

The last thing he heard was the door creaking to a close, but her words echoed through his head. Right as he fell asleep, it dawned on him that, throughout their time together, Zelma had reminded him of some people he had known long ago.

And through his recuperative sleep, he dreamt of Donna and Victor. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and that's gonna be a wrap for the month! as you can probably tell i didn't do all the prompts cause i had trouble thinking up ideas for some of them lmao but all around this was pretty fun! i might stick to whumptober next year, though, since that's less gross and honestly i was scared i was being too repetitive near the end (there's only so many times one person can write "heaved" over and over again) 
> 
> i said before that i might post some of these on their own as oneshots or expand on them in the future, we'll see how that goes!! i hope you had fun reading through these even though most of them ended up getting posted pretty late :D


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